The Last One's Hunt
by TobyWong
Summary: As the original film shows, Connor MacLeod has won the Gathering and became the last immortal. However, a group of men known as the Watchers won't let him be.
1. Chapter 3

_-- I: A new game --_

Connor MacLeod kneeled in front of the image of the Virgin Mary and placed by it the candle he had just lit. He crossed his fingers and closed his eyes, as the sides of his mouth formed a tiny smile.

"Happy birthday, my bonny Heather" he said tenderly.

He stood up and headed to the front seats. Then he sat down in the first seat, the one nearest to the central alley leading to the altar. Mute prayers left his mouth. Words he had never thought he knew. Some immortal probably had, and the knowledge was arising in that very moment.

A small girl ran by him, and soon found herself in her mother's arms. Connor took a glance at them before returning to his prayers. Brenda had wanted to have children. After four hundred years of mortal combats, so had he. He never thought he would be able to make it through the Gathering, but he had done it. He had defeated the Kurgan and become the last immortal. Brenda and him married and moved to Scotland. For the first time since the death of Heather, he felt truly blissful.

Footsteps echoed dimly, walking toward him. Someone sat down behind him, and a small circle-shaped thing was pushed against his back. For what he could feel, it was probably an automatic pistol. His breathing had lowered. He chuckled. Since when finding himself gunpointed was so funny? The quirks of some immortals were bothersome.

"Now, stand up and let's go outside to finish this."

"Whatever you say, Jack. You have the gun." Connor replied gaily.

He stood up slowly and managed to catch a glimpse of the man. A blond shorthaired male with a growing forehead, who was approaching his fifties. It did not struck Connor as something rare. He did not even care. He grinned when he spotted a tattoo right below the back of the man's right hand, the one pointing at him. These guys again, he thought.

Connor took the central alley and slowly began his way out. Behind him, the man had folded a newspaper around the gun. Every step Connor gave was followed by one of the other. The church was almost empty. The woman and the girl had left after the scene Connor had witnessed. Only the local priest remained, busily preparing the altar for the afternoon mass. And of course, his armed friend.

"For how long will we continue this?" Connor asked.

"Shut up and walk, Highlander."

Connor laughed again and stopped, and the other pushed the weapon against his back threateningly. He suddenly ducked, and the armed arm ended up between his head and his right arm which extended upwards. Connor grabbed the arm and pulled it, making the other fly over him and land roughly against the floor.

"Now who are you?" He demanded to know, having got hold of the gun and aiming it at the other's mouth. It was a nice Beretta with a silencer. For some reason, he liked it. He resolved not to try and guess which immortal had been a sucker for guns. The other closed his eyes. Connor could see in his face the pain the impact in the back caused him. "Who are you?"

"Kill me if you want, MacLeod. I'll say nothing."

Connor put the gun against the stranger's chest. The priest, whose attention had been drawn to them, made the sign of the Cross. But he could not let this one get away with it. He might call others. Perhaps he had already called. Holy ground, he thought. But there was no more Game, thus no more rules. He squeezed the trigger and a dim whistle and a gasp followed. Some drops of blood stained his hand and the sleeve of his coat.

He stood up and put the weapon under his shirt. The priest was petrified, after having born witness to the mortal sin committed before his very eyes. Connor looked at him apologetically for a split second, which seemed an eternity. Then he turned and left the church hurriedly.

-----

Connor found his place in a small bar, behind a glass of Jack Daniels. He was not particularly fond of that whisky, but it was all he could afford with the bucks he had in his pocket. His mind drifted backwards. He had never had the sort of training that could enable him to make such a move like the one he had disarmed the guy with. He had probably got that from Duncan.

Connor had never known when his clansman lost his head. But when the final Quickening took hold of him, he knew Duncan was a part of him. Had it been the Kurgan? Unlikely. He would have mentioned it at some point, like he did with some other things that hurt Connor.

"Glenmorangie please." A voice said to his right. Drawn by the mention of a drink he fancied, Connor glimpsed a man in his late forties. The newcomer was shorthaired, and abundant beard covered his face. The predominant colour of his hair was grey, yet some lines of black resisted the passing of time. He reminded him of someone. Probably he had met some relative of the man. A grandfather or something. He downed his drink and cursed himself. The Game is Over, Connor. Remember that, and forget all about it.

"Another!" he demanded sharply. The barman, a twenty-five or so skinny man, gave him an unfriendly look. The man had barely been able to fork out the glass he had just finished, and still had the face to order him another. Connor was not pleased at his stare and his face denoted that.

"Hey pal, I'll buy him one." The man popped in before things got tense, pulling out of his wallet a twenty-dollar bill and handing in to the barman. After checking the authenticity of the paper, he served another glass to Connor.

"Thank you, whoever you are." Connor thanked. The man offered his hand amicably. Connor shook it. The newcomer seemed nice. "Andrew Gore." The Highlander uttered his identity of those days. The name belonged to an immortal Connor had killed in the early 80's. Gore was barely 23 by the time he lost his head. The birth certificate was in the record. The death wasn't. Stealing the name had been too easy.

"I thought you were someone else." The man replied, and the sides of his face tried to form a smile.

"Happens." Connor said, plunging the contents of the glass down his throat. Indeed, he looked too familiar.

"I know, MacLeod." Perhaps it was the drink that had unbalanced him a bit. Or maybe the nagging sensation he had felt again since the episode at the church of someone spying upon him. It had been going on and off for almost 13 years now. Or, most probably, hearing his name again after a long time. The fact was that Connor was shocked, but he was not going to waste time arguing. It was damn obvious how the man knew who he was. He had to leave, before the man's friends called in and reduced him.

"Farewell stranger." Connor grunted. He stood up and began to move away.

"What's the rush, Russell?"

Having heard those words, Connor halted at the door and sat down again, staring at his own reflection in a mirror on the wall. He could see tiny wrinkles in his face, and some grey above the ears. He closed his eyes, pounded hardly by an evocation of the past.


	2. Chapter 1

_-- II: Flash of a blade --_

1992. Connor MacLeod stood silently in front of a tombstone, which read "RACHEL ELLINSTEIN JOHNSON" Emotion ran through him, scarring his heart. For 400 years, he had seen his loved ones age and die, or simply die in the flash of a blade. After winning the Game, he had dropped the identity of Russell Nash, married Brenda Wyatt and moved to Scotland. They had opened a small antique shop in Glasgow, where he hoped to enjoy the only prize he wanted: grow old with the woman he loved.

The Prize had been mere superstition. The winner would have the power of all the immortals, according to the legend. Having won, Connor was able to hear the thoughts of everybody in the world. But it was something transient. One day it was over. It probably had been a lasting side effect of the Quickening, or his brain had been damaged by it. After all, he was mortal now, and he was ageing.

But death followed him and took Rachel. His sweet Rachel, the Jewish orphan he had found in the War and taken in as his daughter. She had relinquished any social life to stand by him at the time of the Gathering. When it was over, and the MacLeods left for Scotland, Rachel suddenly found the centre of her life gone. In charge of the antique shop Connor had in New York, an elderly and kind customer interested in some silver from the sixteenth century soon courted her. They became husband and wife after six months of old-fashioned dates.

Bad news called in after a year of love between them. She had a growth in the head. It was too developed, and too deep within the brain mass to operate. There was almost no life expectancy for her. Donald - Rachel's spouse - almost begged Connor to come back. She wanted to see him. He returned too late. Donald was mourning in the lounge of the hospital, and gazed at him shatteringly. She had passed just an hour ago. Connor later learned that the man never got over her death and blew his brains in his apartment.

Brenda had been next to part. It was something different. Death did not call her. Their relation soured. Connor had been alone for too long, and a change in the habits was not occurring. He spent long hours in the shop, returning late, while she stayed at home all day taking care of the house. When they were together, he delved into her wife's mind, a quirk that disturbed her very much, and which usually led to a heated quarrel. Together with that, Connor's immortal sterility remained, and every effort to have children was futile. She dealt with the situation for three years. One day she said enough. The divorce suit was filed in 1989 and by 1990 she was no longer his wife.

She moved back to the States, where she gained some popularity writing a novel about immortals existing since the dawn of time, killing each other the only way they could: by decapitation. Connor did not find it appalling. He was the only immortal left, and he was not even immortal anymore. Besides, the critics considered it a one-off success of a second-rate fiction writer. However, she earned enough money to relinquish any financial support from her former husband...

Someone embraced Connor. A dark-haired woman with crystal blue eyes pecked his left cheek. He grinned and returned the kiss.

"Here we are, two years later." He mumbled.

"I remember, Connor. Are you ready to go home?" the woman replied.

"Yes, Lillian. Let's go home."

-----

"The man you killed had wife and two kids." The man let the comment slip slowly.

"It was my ass or his." Connor replied stiffly. "Who are you? What's going on?"

"You don't remember me. We met in 1985, in New York. I worked for Lt. Moran. Poor man, he died recently. Eric Garfield. I'm part of a secret organisation that has watched immortals since... for a long time." Connor's mind made out the image of a skinny arrogant cop. He hadn't changed much. His hair was grey and his face covered by the beard, but other than that, it was the same New York imbecile he had met twenty years ago.

"You missed the news: the Game is Over."

"Noticed. We'd dreaded the time of the Gathering since we learned about it. The fact that one immortal could have the power of all others... enough power to rule the world... led some of us to try and wipe you all out."

Connor laughed bitterly. "I took care of that for you."

"Yes, but now you are the last One. They fear you, MacLeod, and they want to kill you."

"Why don't you say 'we' instead of 'they'"? Connor didn't trust Garfield.

"Did you know how your clansman lost his head?"

"Duncan..." Connor said sadly. "Who? Where?"

"Duncan was in Paris with his woman. A visitor called in. Iman Fasil. He fought really hard, but it was not enough." Connor nodded, with some sort of subtle relief. Fasil had been too skilled a swordsman. Two times he had fought him, and it had been thoroughly difficult. He was to some extent glad Duncan had lost to such a warrior. "I read the report of the man who watched him. The man who brought me inside. A fine man really."

"Why are they still after me?"

"After you won, there was unrest within the organisation. You had the Prize, and could use the power to become the dictator of Earth. Vigilance was kept on you. When your wife left, some thought it was the right time to take you down."

"The Prize was a dung heap. Nothing really. I just began to age."

"I can see that. If you want to be free, you have to do something now. For how longer will you be able to cope?"

"Why are you telling me all this? Aren't you bound by some sort of duty to them?"

"The Watchers I joined are not the same they are now, since... "

Garfield stopped. His face stretched, then looked down at his stick. Connor realised something had startled him. He gulped the drink he had been bought to persuade him to stay.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"See that man in the corner?" Connor caught a glimpse of an African-American man in his mid-forties sipping a beer, staring intently at them through the mirror. Next to him, was a leather guitar case. When observed, the man put a hand on it. "His name is Robert Briggs. He is a dangerous man. When young, he was trained by your friend Kastagir."

"Ooh, how scary." Connor laughed. "Stand back. Things may get rough." He took the gun from under his shirt and fired twice at the rooftop. The barman, till then minding his own business, snapped at him, but found the Beretta aimed between his eyes. "Bug off, kid, or I'll put three of these in your skull."

The guy didn't think it twice. He was not paid well enough. He jumped over the bar and stormed away. Connor grinned and tossed the gun. Then faced Briggs. The man had opened the guitar case and drawn out a long scimitar.

"So you are an old-fashioned kind of fighter. I like that." Connor opened his coat and drew out a Japanese sword with a blade that was shorter than that of a standard katana. Garfield retreated. How come MacLeod still carried a wakizachi?

"My master told me so much about you, Highlander." Briggs commented, standing in position.

"Kastagir did not see things clearly." Connor mocked. "Too much boom-boom, if you ask me. That's why he died."

"MacLeod, what are you doing?" Garfield called from behind.

"What you suggested." With those words, Connor went forward. Steel touched steel. The clash was deafening. He retreated. His attacks had to be careful. Any unbalanced attack and he would be an easy target. Briggs lunged at him, trying to slice the Highlander's left arm. Connor moved his left side backwards and found a clear spot in Briggs's chest, in which he dug his blade, impaling his opponent fiercely. In the end, it had been a piece of cake.

"Damn!" Briggs cursed, spitting blood. Connor retired the sword and pulled it upwards. "There can be only one!"

"MACLEOD!" Garfield yelled from behind. Connor put down his weapon and beamed at the former cop. Briggs had fallen, all life of him gone.

"I was just kidding. Let's get out of here."


	3. Chapter 2

_-- III: Untitled --_

In the darkness of his office, Vincent Muldoon savoured a burgundy, staring through the large window at the emptiness of the streets. He liked it. The taste travelling through his tongue gave him a feeling that could only be second to sex. But that was not a choice. Since his wife Julia had been murdered 22 years ago, celibacy was a way of life for him. The Kurgan had discovered her while she watched her killed-in-battle assignment. That day, Muldoon swore he would bring the last immortal, whoever he was, to dust.

But MacLeod defeating Kurgan had been too unexpected. He chose to keep tabs on the Highlander. Someone with the power of all immortals was too powerful to be defeated. When his adoptive daughter died, and his wife left him, he knew it was the right time. They set in motion a plan, which failed in the last stage: the death of the Highlander. It had been an unexplainable failure. Since then, isolated attempts had taken place, wherever and whenever they could spot the Highlander. He had been spotted in Buenos Aires recently.

A beep interrupted his chain of thought, and a distorted female voice passed a message. She had some information. Muldoon asked her in. A cute brunette with suit, glasses and a short skirt that revealed a fine pair of legs walked in, handed in a couple of printed sheets and left the room. Muldoon watched her do so intently. If Julia's memory hadn't haunted him, he would have harassed her. Oh yes, joyfully.

He read the papers and took a deep sip to contain his anger. Zachary Jones, the man that had reported MacLeod's presence in Buenos Aires, had been killed. So had Robert Briggs, the best they could find to take the Scot down. For some reason, the Highlander still carried a sword. He had not counted on that. Which would be the next step now? He caressed the little grey bristles on his chin, feeling the cold contact of the wedding ring in his finger against it. He knew what to do. He called the secretary again. She walked in.

"Get me Nicole O'Ballahan."

She nodded and walked out. MacLeod would surely fall to her and die. But Muldoon removed the Highlander from his head, being more concerned with gazing at the secretary leaving.

-----

Connor took off his coat and headed to the bathroom. Garfield looked around the hotel room. Three-star hotels seldom looked that well. Everything was neat and clean. The service had been extremely good too. He approached the coat the Highlander had used and looked for something in it. The Highlander returned, off the bloodstained clothes and in a red tee shirt. Garfield glared at him, uneasy about something.

"Where is the sword?" he asked.

Connor laughed. "Heh-heh. What sword?"

"Don't fool with me, MacLeod. The wakizachi."

"There's no wakizachi."

"I can see that. Where did you hide it?" He was losing his patience.

"Like I said, there is no sword."

Connor called room service and asked for two coffees. He sat down gaily in front of the TV, feeling Garfield's eyes piercing him, and watching George Lazenby play the worst James Bond ever. He needed to trust somebody. The man knew about him, and had met him before. That was not enough but... there was no one else.

"MacLeod... " Garfield said after a while, giving up. "Whatever."

Coffee came in. Connor tipped the clerk and then had a sip.

"I used a sword, but there is no sword."

"How? Don't tell me it's magic."

"Heh-heh. A kind of magic actually. It's the power of illusion."

Connor stood up and kneeled in front of the other, who did not understand. He closed his eyes and after a few seconds, his face began to change. It was... Lieutenant Frank Moran... then... Brenda Wyatt... then... Eric Garfield himself... then... Connor MacLeod again. Garfield's eyes almost fell off their sockets.

"How can it be!" he was terrified.

"It is the power of the sorcerer Nakano. He trained me. He wanted me to have his power, so he challenged me when he thought I was ready..."

"Nakano..." the other mumbled, remembering something. "... thought he was a myth... like Methos."

"Neither of them were. Both lived... and both died by my blade."

"When?" Garfield queried, wanted to know more.

"Nakano got me drunk one night, and then challenged me. I had defeated him before but refused to take his head. But that time I was not that clear-headed to stop. And Methos... it's a long story."

"But why don't you use it to...?"

Connor gasped "It demands a great deal of body energy, which I'm barely able to produce now that I'm mortal." Indeed, beads of sweat were tripping down from the Highlander's brow.

"So... you actually have the power of all the immortals?"

"I inherited some quirks mostly. I discovered I had this ability when..." Connor stopped, his eyes suddenly struggling against emotion.

Garfield knew when: the day the Watchers had called in at his place, beginning the runaway frenzy Connor was in ...


	4. Chapter 4

_-- IV: Lillian --_

Connor MacLeod was in bed, naked between the sheets after a round of lustful sex with Lillian. He remembered the moment they had met. Brenda had left a year ago. He was alone at the bar of a Dublin pub with a glass of Glenmorangie when she appeared. She asked for a double Scotch. She wore tight red trousers and a loose black tee shirt. She finished her drink and asked for another. Another one followed that one.

"You will go drunk." Connor warned.

"I can take care of myself, lad!" she replied not in the least amicably. She downed her drink and burst into tears almost as if the drink had capped her capacity and she needed to shed out liquid. Connor moved nearer.

"Doesn't look like. I should walk you home."

She stared at him, first with distrust, then with confidence. He thought she was too drunk to realise between a helpful man, and a man who wanted to get in bed with her. Let alone would she identify a blend of both, but he had remained mostly helpful and exchanged phone numbers with her. Connor was not ready yet for another relation. She had lost her husband to cancer recently. A date followed, then another, and so on.

On their first date-only anniversary, they had dinner at her apartment. Lillian wore a black dress with a more than inviting cleavage that revealed most of her rounded breasts. Her waist was extremely well marked, and her back totally uncovered. After a tasty turkey and a couple of bottles of wine, both of them were too drunk. They went to her bedroom, where he took off her dress, revealing her perfect body. A night of sex followed...

-----

"Thinking of something?" Lillian, wearing a small red sleeping dress that hardly covered her privates, made Connor return to the present reality. "You look absent."

"I was just thinking."

"Of what? All that people you say you beheaded?" she said, staring meltingly.

Connor had told the truth to her after the anniversary date. She had laughed and asked if he told that to all the women he slept with. She could not believe Connor was more than 450 years old, that he had wandered around the world that long, taking heads and being hit by "electrical storms", until 1985, when he won some Prize. On second thoughts, who could?

They had been living together for two years and a half. Lillian was scarcely thirty, an age not so far away from the twenty-seven Connor looked like. He was 18 when the Kurgan killed him. He had looked 18 for longer than 400 years, until the Prize was won, and he began to age. Of course 18 were not the same in 1536 as in 1993. Then, there were grown men already at that age, whereas now most kids were either skinny nerds or piles of muscles and steroids with no brain whatsoever.

The telephone rang. He turned to it.

"Don't answer it."

"What if it's something important?"

"What if it's not?" she asked.

"MacLeod Antique Shop." Connor uttered, after picking up the tube. They had moved to Glasgow and reopened the shop. They lived in the back part, where there was enough room to make a comfortable home.

"Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod?" a low, rasping male voice uttered. "You must leave your place now. Your life is at risk."

"Heh-heh. Really funny, pal." Connor hung up.

"Who was it?" Lillian asked.

"Some wacko claiming I was in danger..."

Lillian headed to the front part of the shop, apparently disturbed by the call. It was not fun to receive calls like those. Something startled him. The clan. How in hell the prankster knew about it?

Something was smashed in the shop. Then something else. Lillian was probably angry. But why? And how in hell did she manage to make so much noise alone? And why was she breaking things? They were really expensive. Then he heard a machine gun being fired.

-----

Connor jumped out of bed and took a 9-mm from one of the wardrobe drawers. He looked for the box of bullets. Where were they? He had never moved them from there.

A man dressed in black with a mask on his head appeared and aimed a machine gun at him. Connor grabbed a decorative knife he kept next to the gun, never certain of where to put it. He ducked and threw it at the intruder, who got his throat stabbed.

He crawled to the bed, where he grasped a large box that was piling dust thereunder. Taking a deep breath, he opened, and produced his more than a thousand years-old katana. Bitter memories pervaded his mind, but he blew them away. Carefully, he treaded towards the shop. Another masked man appeared and fired a pistol at point blank. Somehow the shot was missed. He thrust the man hardly, and then removed the mask. It was no one he knew. He dropped the body. The shop was on fire.

He moved forward, where another two men were, and hid behind the counter. Smoke was beginning to thicken. He could hardly see anything. The two men were near the door, and there was something at their feet. Someone. Connor recognised Lillian's red dress and cursed out loud. The bastards had killed her.

One of the men, having heard Connor's voice, moved in his direction, past him. Connor stood up to finish him, but tripped on something. The man heard him and turned quickly, aiming the gun. Connor froze, knowing himself dead. The intruder stared and put the gun down.

"Where's MacLeod, Hayes?"

Who in hell was Hayes? Why was this guy mistaking him, if they were there for him? It did not matter.

"Here!" the reply was followed by his stabbing the bastard, who never knew what hit him, until he saw a chunk of the blade in his chest. The sword was immediately removed and the man fell lifeless over him.

"Hayes!" he heard the other man call. Connor turned, facing a tall masked man, and wondering why in hell everyone mistook him for whoever Hayes was. "Holy s---." The man that seemed to be the leader blurted out upon seeing the just-dead body. "Where is MacLeod?"

"I..." Connor mumbled. His voice sounded different. "Dead. I've just finished him. There's the body." He pointed inside the house, where the body of the unmasked man lay, barely visible due to the growing smoke.

"Take the sword. I'll cover our tracks and meet you there."

Connor nodded and moved out, taking one last glance at Lillian's body. He stepped onto the street and walked away casually, containing the pain, as if nothing had happened. Then he wondered. When had he put the black outfit he was wearing on?

Two streets from there, he stopped at the window of a shop, where a camera was filming the street and the image was displayed on a television. He was there, but he was not there. There was somebody else. The crook he had killed and unmasked. Right then, his face shone dimly and changed. Now his face was his again. Perturbed and feeling great exhaustion, he moved away.


	5. Chapter 5

_-- V: Conversations --_

"What is it?"

Vincent Muldoon had picked up the phone tube and asked the question rather harshly.

"I have Nicole O'Ballahan on the line." The secretary replied.

"I'm waiting, darling."

A beep followed and then a silence. Then a cold female voice spoke softly.

"Vincent."

"Hello, Nicole... it's been a while."

"Not as much as I would have wanted."

"I guess you would have preferred a lifetime." He knew she was not in good terms with him. But this was business.

"Yes. I take it this call is about Connor MacLeod."

"I am impressed. Feminine intuition?" he tried to be gallant.

"Cut the nonsense. He's the only reason the Watchers are still working. Why else would you call?"

"I want him down." A harsh laughter followed on the other side of the line.

"And I want him to ride me." A pause followed, in which neither Muldoon laughed at the comment nor Nicole tried to say anything funny. "It will cost you." She finally muttered.

"Half a million will do? Euros."

There was no reply. She was expensive, but she would approach MacLeod differently, rather than going straight to battle with the most skilled swordsman on Earth. Unlike Briggs, who had charged hardly anything for personal revenge against the last immortal. There was a rumour in the 80's, that Briggs and Sunda Kastagir had a relation that was deeper than the mere teacher-student thing. Had he remembered it when he hired Briggs, probably he would not have been so impressed by the resume of the assassin, and would have considered someone else.

"Deal. Now enlighten me."

"He killed Robert Briggs in a bar in Buenos Aires four days ago. The latest info says he is flying to Paris."

The line died. She had hung up. He grinned. She still bore her grudge. They had had an affair when she was starting in the Watchers. He was 35, she was 21. It lasted for two years, until Julia's death hit Vincent really hard. That day he cut the relation. She left the Watchers, and entered a government agency, where she would get enough training to later become a contract killer. She had an additional advantage: she had had contact with MacLeod in the past. It would be a piece of cake for her.

-----

A blond, slender woman in her forties opened the door. Her blue eyes set on the man in front of her, who wore a grey shirt and a pair or bleached jeans.

"Oui?"

"Are you Tessa Noel?"

"I am. Who are you?" A hand was offered.

"My name is Connor. Connor MacLeod." Tessa shook the hand and opened widely the door.

"Please come in."

Connor was allowed in, and offered some coffee. He sat down with Tessa in front of him, at a large dinner table.

"You are... Duncan's cousin."

"Yes... I..." Connor did not know how to approach the woman. "I... learned of his death... recently."

"News travels slowly. Duncan died in 1982. An... an..." she stopped. Talking about it was not easy for her.

"Immortal?"

"Yes. A man came in one night and openly challenged him. Somehow Duncan knew he would lose, and made the man promise to return his sword to me if he was defeated..." Tessa burst into tears. "I found the sword by the door the following morning!"

"I am sorry... Duncan was like a brother to me."

"I can imagine it. 400 years is a long time to know somebody."

"You moved on after it?"

"I got married some years later. He's a good man. Hardworking and honest."

"I'm glad to hear that. To some extent, I know he would be glad too."

"Is it over? The... encounter?"

"The Gathering?" he asked kindly.

"That."

"I'm still here. The others aren't."

"So what is that reward like?"

"The Prize? Nothing worth." he felt amused by the mistaking of the names.

Connor drank his coffee in silence. Then he stood up, thanking Tessa for her time.

"Mr. MacLeod?" she asked slowly.

"Connor."

"Connor... I would like to ask you a favour."

"Please."

"Could you take Duncan's sword with you? I think it would be better if you have it and... I really can't look at it."

"I can't take it now. It would call attention. I can call in on... Saturday afternoon... if you can."

Tessa went to her agenda and opened it.

"Today is Thursday... no problem." She beamed as she replied.

"Until then, mademoiselle." Connor said gallantly and left.

Tessa's smile faded into a smirk. She tossed the agenda harshly and picked up her cell phone, pushing some numbers. A tattoo could be seen on the back of her hand.

"He's coming on Saturday afternoon."


	6. Chapter 6

-- VI: Lingering scars --

Garfield was uneasy. He had received the latest news regarding MacLeod. The Highlander, in disguise under the appearance of a buxom immortal woman called Kristen Gilles, and him were at a bar near Champs Elysees.

"How long will you cope looking like somebody else?"

"If we're merely chatting without problems, something like three hours." The magic trick included an open cleavage that revealed most of what had been Kristen's breasts. Garfield from time to time glanced at them.

"It is impolite to look at a woman's body like that. Besides, don't forget I'm a man." Connor mocked, in a flirting female voice

"I know." Garfield replied, pissed off. "So... want to hear what I have?"

"Why else would we be here?"

"They hired Nicole O'Ballahan."

"Is the name supposed to mean anything?" Connor asked sarcastically.

"We're talking about a very beautiful woman... and a government-trained assassin capable of anything, just in case your Casanova friend Ramirez feels like calling in when you meet her."

" I visited Tessa Noel. She has Duncan's sword ready for me on Saturday afternoon."

"You went... like you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"MacLeod, Tessa was known to be Duncan's lover. Therefore, she might be watched."

"That was more than twenty years ago." (S)he said with a sultry voice and a seductive look. Connor was playing with Garfield, who was not enjoying it in the least. "Besides, are there so many of you?"

"Are there so many of YOU?" the same words replied the answer. Connor-Kristen grinned.

"Touché. What about the guy who trained you?"

"Joe Dawson." Garfield's voice leaked out a faint trace of sadness. "A great man. Terrific blues player... he died by saving you."

"The voice on the phone." Connor was finally fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. That fully explained why Garfield was helping him.

"Why a woman's body?" Garfield changed the topic.

"Two men alone chatting in a bar on a Friday night... people would talk." Connor beamed another seductive smile at him, who found himself lured by the woman he had in front of him, but at the same time fooled twofold. First by MacLeod, who was picking on him, and then by himself, knowing that what was in front of him was merely the image of a dead immortal. No doubt, life was easier when he ran after thugs.

-----

Saturday afternoon. The door of Tessa Noel's house was knocked. She opened it. Connor smiled charmingly at her. She returned another smile and let him in. Connor was wearing a beige mackintosh. He looked odd on a boiling hot summer day but not as odd as a man walking with a Japanese katana in hands would have looked.

"It is really hot out there. How do you manage?" she queried.

"You get used to it." He commented.

Tessa went to some room inside the house and returned with the katana, holding it by the hilt. She took a piece of cotton and wetted it in alcohol. Then she intently began wiping the blade of dust. Strange. Connor thought. Too strange. When she finished, he grasped the weapon again by the hilt and put the other hand under the blade. Suddenly, she lunged at Connor, attempting to slice his chest. The Highlander retreated in time and stared in not much surprise. Five masked people appeared from diverse parts of the house. All dressed in black, all wearing masks, all holding Magnums in their hands.

"So after Duncan died, you joined them, embittered with all of us." Connor guessed.

"Smart, MacLeod. Really smart." One of the masked men said. Connor had heard the voice before. The mysterious head of the attack to the antique shop.

"He is mine. That was the deal." Tessa mumbled.

Connor produced his magical wakizachi from under the coat. She went forward. He half-kneeled, and slashed her stomach. She stumbled past him and was stabbed in the back. He removed the sword and let her pass.

The others pointed their guns at the Highlander. Connor laughed harshly. Why? He could not know.

"Will you at least let me see your faces?" he asked as some sort of last will.

At first there was no reaction. Then one of then revealed his face. Vincent Muldoon grinned at Connor. The others did the same.

"Now, Highlander, it is time we bring the last immortal to dust."

Muldoon retreated, and the others went forward. One of the men fired his weapon. Connor moved down making a roll forward. Pushing his hands against the floor, he rose and kicked the man's face. Then he stood up and sliced open another's stomach. Those moves were too good. Even for Duncan.

Now only two men remained, plus Muldoon, who was contemplating everything from the kitchen. Connor was surrounded. One to his left, one to his right. The sword vanished abruptly. He felt tired. He would not be able to use an illusion to escape from there.

One of the men fired. Connor saw the shot come. His hand stretched forward and opened, all without his intention, as if it had a life of its own. What the hell was that? The hand glowed dimly and the bullet froze in the air. He did not even hesitate in wondering how he had done that. He moved out of the way and the shot carried on its lethal course... towards the man behind him, who fell dead.

The surviving man was too flabbergasted to speak. So was Muldoon. Connor did not waste time and ruthlessly snapped the survivor's neck.

"Just you and me, now." He said angrily to Muldoon.

"Not quite..." Muldoon smirked knowingly.

Steps were heard. The main door burst open and a woman walked in. Dark-haired, with crystal blue eyes, wearing leather trousers that revealed a worked-out body, and holding a rapier in her right hand. On the left one, she had a small box, the contents of which, seven bullets, were tossed to the floor. Connor glared in surprise and disappointment. His heart began to pound faster. Sweat made his shirt stick to his back. It could not be.

"Hello, Connor." She said acidly.

"Lillian..."

"Actually, I'm Nicole. Nicole O'Ballahan."

Connor grinned sadly. Garfield was right. She was capable of anything. What a tangled web she had woven. He had been manipulated, fooled into believing her.

"It ends today, Connor." She said.

Gunfire came from the street. Nicole jumped inside and hid. Connor recognised Garfield inside a large black van. From inside, two or three masked people had fired and were waving at him. He rushed out and dove inside the van just as it speeded away. 


	7. Chapter 7

-- VII: The Watchers --

"I found a call from Tessa Noel. When I mentioned it to Eric, he knew you were in trouble."

Careless of the words spoken by the brunette known to be Vincent Muldoon's secretary, and deep in thought, Connor took a sip of tea. He was in someone's house, surrounded by Eric Garfield and two other people. The three of them were waiting for Connor to say something, but he was simply absent. His mind was working at full steam.

Lillian was Nicole O'Ballahan. The Watchers had put a woman to cheat him, and unbalance him for the right moment. She pretended to be dead the night of the attack. They thought he would surrender and die. Had not the power of illusion triggered just then, that might have happened.

Then it was the matter of the bullet. How had he stopped the shot in the air using his hand, without even touching it? It was something that he needed to find out. What more abilities did he own?

"Mr. MacLeod, what happened?" An unmistakably Spanish accent leaked through the voice of a fat man with a funny moustache.

Connor glared at him. Images began to pervade his mind. That stared him down. He stood up and began to flutter and fidget. More pieces to the puzzle. Now the mind reading was returning. He pushed the images away before something concrete came from the man's mind. Brenda used to compare Connor's ability to being raped. Some things had to remain private. Only now could he understand, now that he wanted to keep his own thoughts to himself. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Not if he wanted to bring down the bastard that was behind him.

"I don't know. I do things I never thought I could. People I thought was dead are still alive... I don't know. " He mumbled in a big state of confusion.

"Connor..." Garfield called. The Highlander was drawn by that change in the way of addressing him. "Calm down. What dead people?"

"Lillian Weaver, the woman I lived with when the Watchers broke into my antique shop and had allegedly been killed... She's Nicole O'Ballahan."

"What about the things you mention?" The girl uttered.

Connor looked at Garfield, who returned his glance. "It's your call."

"Let's start from square one. Who are you people?" the Highlander asked.

"Demetrio Lopez García." The fat man said.

"I'm Amy Thomas." The secretary replied.

"I'm Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod." He nodded at them. "As you know, I was born in 1518 and in 1985 won the Gathering. I should have enough power to rule the world, but I'm just ageing. However, there are some peculiarities..."

"Explain yourself." Amy required what the other dared not ask.

Connor took a deep breath, and put his hands together. His body began to glow. Then it changed. It took the form of each of the people there, one by one, before taking the shape of Vincent Muldoon, after which it became Connor MacLeod again.

García was thoroughly surprised. Garfield had already seen it, but he could not get used to it. Amy was not less surprised yet her face revealed a certain certainty.

"The sorcerer Nakano's power." She mumbled.

"Exactly. My body can't stand it for a long time anyway. And that's not all. Today I could stop a bullet with my hand... somehow."

"Stopping things, eh? That use of the Quickening was known in very few immortals." García commented as if he were lecturing.

"True. Juan Sanchez Villalobos Ramirez, Jacob Kell, and Kilvara." Amy added.

"She was the best in the History class. She can tell you almost everything about all the immortals." Garfield said with some sort of pride.

"She's an immortal nerd." Garcia added, causing the laughter of the other Watchers.

"How interesting... now explain me, who was the guy there?" Connor muttered, spoiling the fun.

"Vincent Muldoon." Garfield said acidly. "Amy is inside working as his secretary."

"He's the boss?"

"He's... probably the most influential person inside the Watchers. Why?"

"Where I can take him down?"

"You mean you want to sneak in the headquarters and make him mashed potatoes?"

"Exactly." Connor grinned.

"It is impossible." Garcia grunted.

"Actually not... if you are a Watcher. Can you fake our tattoo?" Amy asked Connor.

Connor beamed at her and showed him the back of his hand. Below the wrist, a neat Watcher tattoo could be seen.

"Why now?" Garfield asked

"Because I know who to go after."

"That leaves only one thing to worry." Garcia blurted out.

"I'll handle her." Connor said standing up.

"Are you sure?" Garfield asked.

"No."

-----

The night of the following day, the Watchers and Connor went in the van to the HQ. Connor changed his appearance to that of a shorthaired tall slim man and added the tattoo to the disguise. They were allowed in. They moved through a large reception room, and took the stairs that lead to the first floor... Muldoon's office.

Suddenly a gunshot was heard. Then another. Amy fell wounded and rode down the stairs. Someone screamed they put up their hands. They did so.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" Muldoon appeared. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, the place was plenty of armed guards. Beside him, Nicole O'Ballahan, wearing a short black leather skirt and a red top.

The captives were put in line in the reception room. Nicole examined them. She stared at Amy with wicked pleasure and stroked her face, something that disgusted her greatly. Then she turned to Connor. She inspected him.

"Do you recognise him, Vincent?" she asked.

"He reminds me of a Watcher we had a long time ago. Pierson was his name. But he should be 60 by now and this guy doesn't seem to be so."

"He is older." She blurted out as she kicked Connor in the crotch. His body twisted in pain as it glared. His true appearance returned. "So you were right, Demetrio."

Indeed, Muldoon was shaking hands with the Spaniard. Amy looked deceived. Connor could see in the traitor's mind. A huge amount of money had been paid to him. He recognised those flashes as the same he had perceived before. Connor blamed himself for the failure. He should have focused on the images, rather than push them away.

"Nice trick, Connor." she commented acidly. "I imagine that you create the small sword with it. But I wonder..." she put a finger on her chin, mockingly thinking "... is it because a larger sword would demand more physical energy... or is it to show the size of your ego?"

"You never complained of my ego." Connor replied in the same twisted funny mood he was in whenever he was in a dangerous situation.

"Please, people." Muldoon interrupted in a conciliatory tone. " I would like a conversation with him. Is it a problem to you, Nicole?"

She smirked and gazed at Amy. "Not in the least. I will have fun with his little treacherous friend."

Connor was led to Muldoon's office, as Amy's cries for help flooded the rooms of the Watchers headquarters. Garfield was taken elsewhere. 


	8. Chapter 8

-- VIII: Prelude to the End of the Game --

"So, MacLeod. What is it like to have lived for that long?"

Connor was sitting in front of Muldoon, them separated by a desk. He had been offered Glenmorangie, an offer that he could not refuse. Muldoon was sipping his burgundy. Around them, four armed were focused on every single movement the Highlander did. Connor's face showed signs of exhaustion. Despite everything, the atmosphere was rather relaxed.

"An endless repetition of events that I hoped would en1d after the Gathering. But I'm still playing. A different game, but still playing."

"Don't worry. You'll be worm food by the next hour."

"Why waiting?" Connor replied gaily.

"I wanted to know about some of your extinct kind, especially the oldest ones. For instance, what can you tell me about Methos?"

Connor laughed. "It doesn't work like that. His life is not available to me instantly. "

"What about... Khronos?"

"Try a clock."

"Fun enough. I grant you that. My wife had a great sense of humour."

Muldoon appeared to struggle against emotion for a few seconds. Connor researched his mind. The Kurgan had killed her, in the aftermath of his battle against Oshta Vazilek. Dim flashes of that moment exploded in Connor's mind, stemming from the part of the Kurgan inside him, and that twisted and evil point of view. He had punched her, then raped her viciously. She had struggled but it had only boosted him. When he was done, he broke her neck.

"I'm sorry for how she died."

"What can you know about that?" Muldoon asked irritated.

The door opened, and two men appeared, bringing a handcuffed Eric Garfield with them. The guards that were in the room left. Garfield was badly bruised, and blood flowed out of his nose and mouth. His forehead was swollen.

"Eric." Muldoon muttered. "This is treason. You know the rules."

"Shut up, Muldoon. The Game has been over for too long. Our purpose is long gone."

"But I have brought you a new purpose." Muldoon replied as if he were some sort of saviour. "The death of the last of the immortals."

Yells were heard from somewhere else. Female yells. Eric's face shuddered when he heard them. Connor caught a glimpse of his face, and realised there was something between him and Amy. It was not love. It was something more solemn. A feeling he could never truly under understand, not even by intruding in Garfield's mind.

"Where is she?" Garfield demanded.

"She's with Nicole. Girl stuff." Muldoon said cynically.

Connor shook his head bitterly. He was too vigilated to do anything. Eric was glancing at him.

"MacLeod" he uttered. "Can't you break free?"

"No, he is not that strong to do it and get away with it." one of the guards joked.

"Right." Garfield grinned. "HE is not that strong. HE is not that strong." He exchanged a quick look with Connor. "But he could still make you wipe your ass in public."

The guard punched Garfield hardly, sending him to the floor, where he began to kick him. The other joined the party. Eric was gasping in pain. No one watched Connor. Just what he needed. The Highlander closed his eyes and his body started to change. It became larger and better built. A scar appeared on his throat. All his hair disappeared. An evil grin posed on his face.

Muldoon had been attentive to Garfield when he perceived the glow coming from Connor's side. All the determination was gone. His eyes widened and a bitter sensation of panic possessed him. The giant in front of him lifted him up in the air and threw him at the other men. Muldoon landed over them, and the three of them ended up in the floor.

"Go help Amy!" Garfield begged.

-----

Connor, returning to his normal appearance, climbed down the stairs, and followed the shrieks to a closed door. He opened it and froze for a second at the image before him. Amy was naked up to the waist. Her wound had not been treated, and blood slowly flowed off her shoulder. Nicole, Garcia and another man were touching her in the most vexing and filthiest of ways.

When noticed, the three Watchers stared. Connor smirked angrily and made a nod with the head, before going to the reception room. The trio walked out after him, each holding a different kind of sword. Nicole wielded her rapier, and Garcia the dragon-hilt katana that used to belong to Duncan MacLeod. The third man used a peculiar kind of broadsword.

"Well, Connor. Here we are." Nicole mocked. "Where's your weapon?"

The Highlander extended his arms forward. In his hands, a blade began to take shape. It was not the wakizachi. It was a larger sword, one that could enable him to strike harder against his opponents. He grasped the sword by the hilt with his right hand when it was ready and touched the double-edge blade with the index finger of his left hand. It felt like the real sword he had used more than four hundred years ago. He read the inscription written where the blade began. "MACLEOD."

"Nice claymore." Garcia said. "Too bad it won't do."

He lunged at Connor and tried to stab him frontally. His opponent remained motionless until he was close enough. Then Connor stretched his arm forward and let the traitor impale against his claymore. Jerk, he thought as the traitor plummeted to death.

The other man attacked next. Connor blocked the upward blow, and punched the bastard in the face. As the other retreated, the Highlander swept his leg, making him fall, and then dug the blade in the chest. A gasp followed. Silence was all that was left.

He let the claymore disappear. It had served its purpose well. He picked the katana and faced Nicole.

"Nice, Connor. But will you be able to kill me as you killed them?"

Connor twisted his armed hand before attacking. The first blow he delivered, aimed at slicing her shoulder, was promptly blocked. The second one, intending to slice her chest, was deflected. He retreated. She went forward and thrust against his left arm. He blocked the blow but she moved her sword over his and made a cut in his face. She stepped back, smiling and pleased at what she had done. Connor wiped the blood off his face, and grinned confidently.

"Oh, Lillian. Look what you've done. You stripped my heart, ripped it apart, and now you think that because you cut my cheek... you have a shot?"

She attacked again, targeting at his groin. He blocked the attack and struggled with her. Slowly, he managed to push her sword downward using his. Her guard low, Connor had no impediments when he made a deep, strong and fatal vertical cut that ran from her stomach to her throat by swinging his sword swiftly upward. She fell, gasping in more rage than pain.

"Connor..." she mumbled.

"Goodbye, Nicole. Send my regards to my friends in Hell." 


	9. Chapter 9

-- IX: Endgame --

"Are you OK, Amy?"

Connor had released the girl, and after giving her her clothes, made a tourniquet on the wound. She stood up slowly and headed out of the room, helped by Connor. They encountered Muldoon, who was pushing an old revolver against Garfield's swollen face.

"This is the end of the road, MacLeod. Surrender or he's history."

"Don't! He'll shoot me anyway." Garfield said determinedly.

Connor put up his hands and stepped forward.

"I'm here, Vincent. All you have to do is shoot."

"Not quite." Muldoon shook his head. "You will stop it. Come here. I'll shoot you in the head."

Amy tried to hold Connor back, unsuccessfully. He went up to the Watcher and kneeled. Muldoon grinned and pushed his gun hardly against Connor's brow. Garfield was pushed away to the floor. The Highlander closed his eyes. Muldoon pulled back the hammer, ready to fire. A voice broke the tense silence.

"Don't."

A female voice called, echoing as if it were the Virgin herself speaking from above. It was soft yet deafening. Muldoon shivered, looking everywhere before returning his eyes to Connor. But Connor was not there anymore. A small, red-haired woman with green eyes gazed lovingly at him. He moved away the gun, and wiped his eyes. His dead wife Julia was there.

"It cannot be." He whispered.

"I'm here, Vincent." She said with the tenderest of voices, throwing her arms around him. He folded his arms around her.

"No ... You died!" he said, moving his gun to fire in the back of the woman in his arms. But it was too late. He knew it when he felt the pain in his chest. It was not his heart, quickened by the return of his wife. It was the small knife that had pierced into it. He slipped down, still embracing Julia... who was becoming Connor MacLeod.

"Sad affair." Connor mocked.

"Not quite." Muldoon blurted out before shooting. The bullet entered through Connor's scapula and left his body breaking through his shoulder. Muldoon fell definitely to the floor.

Connor was next, his body twisting spasmodically. Amy was going towards him. From the floor, Garfield realised what was going on. He had used the power of illusion to release himself from Muldoon's thugs. Then he had defeated García, Nicole and the other. Finally, he had used the illusion again to cheat Muldoon. The energy used had been excessive for the body of a mortal man and the shot, albeit not lethal, had been the final straw.

"Eric, what's going on?" Amy cried, holding the shaky and wounded Highlander, whose face and eyes had gone blank.

"He... he is dying."

Seconds later, the shaking stopped. The last immortal was dead.

-----

The Watchers had acted promptly. Less than an hour after Garfield had called, a group arrived at the Paris headquarters to clean everything. He and Amy were having a cup of coffee, while they reported what had happened to the superior in front of him.

Muldoon had gone against the orders. Whatever some Watchers felt about the Highlander, there were strict orders against trying to eliminate Connor. But Muldoon, taking advantage of his influences and his position as the head of the European branch, had carried out his plan, and killed a fellow Watcher in the way. A very respected fellow Watcher.

Garfield and Amy, according to the latter, had helped MacLeod. They knew it was a breach of their oath, and were willing to pay the price. The superior shrugged. It was a minor offence compared to what they had prevented. Probably some time packing the old chronicles would do as punishment. After all, it was the last thing they would do. The Watchers had no purpose now, so their existence was unnecessary.

"Sir." A subordinate called in. "There's a body missing."

Amy looked at Garfield.

"Which one?" the superior asked.

"MacLeod."

"It cannot be." The superior left the room, followed by Amy and Garfield. Where Connor's body had been, there was nothing. There were some steps made over a pool of blood that led to the stairs. From there, they disappeared. The superior sent all his men to check where the body was.

"He's a smart ass." Amy whispered.

"Tell me about it." Garfield uttered in response, as his mouth formed the tiniest of grins.

-- END -- 


End file.
